You

My fantasies are of you.

When I come home, you are naked, seated, by the window, one leg over an arm of the chair. Open. Eyes closed. Your fingers circling the center of your pleasure, the middle two. I watch and take of my clothes. The two fingers disappear inside and you press your palm onto your sex. You spread your lips as you withdraw those fingers. Glistening. The wet rhythmic smack resumes, accelerates, contrapuntal to the muted scritch-scritch-scritch sound of the coarse hair caught in your act. I can smell you; intoxicating. My belt buckle jingles when it hits the floor. Your eyes languidly open, look at my face, see where I'm looking. Your gaze drops to my cock, alive with my pulse, rigid, ready. Again to my eyes, then you roll yours up and close them as the tension arches your back and your abdomen trembles. I nuzzle your fingers gently aside and catch your release as I dance my tongue where your fingers played.

You use your mouth on my nipples. A tongue. Teeth. My cock in your hand, rubbing the head, pumping slowly. My balls, fingernails tracing, a squeeze. You offer me your breast, nipple touching my nose, lips. My one hand slides over the small of your back and over your round ass. I press the palm of my other hand onto your unoccupied nipple, circling becomes a slight pinch. My tongue flicks. You turn and offer your sex to my mouth. As I suck and flick your clit, you masturbate me. You switch from hands to mouth. My fingers penetrate. You turn again and settle back with me inside you. Rising and falling then writhing and pressing. Watching your breasts bounce and shake, I catch the nipples and roll them in my fingers, draw you down to my mouth. As you tremble, I thrust and my release comes.

Fantasy 01

When you set free your imaginings, what might they be?

I was walking along a wooded trail with a friend on a hot summer day. We were lapsing into and out of conversation when I noticed a distinct moan and whispered encouragements coming from a little grotto on the trail ahead of us. My friend was (is) a bit deaf and missed these utterances. I figured I had several choices: to continue along the trail quietly and possibly catch (and certainly embarrass) the couple; or to discretely warn them of our approach thereby giving them a chance at privacy. I suppose I am not the unrepentant voyeur; I asked my friend (a bit louder than usual) if he knew what type of tree this was? He didn't. It was a beech. Our pause along the trail and raised voices signaled the couple who hastily arranged themselves and continued along the trail.

This sparked my imagination. When I was younger, I was several times the male half of such a couple locked in amorous adventure. These days, I walk softly and carry a camera. So...

The trail follows along a old collapsed dry stone fence line. It was a utilitarian fence interrupted by occasional piles of stone thrown from the fields. Sometimes these piles were robbed for building more fence or small outbuildings. Other times, long gone trees pushed aside the stone. In either case, small, private alcoves are found in the meandering fence. Arrangements have been made and she is there hidden from any viewers on the trail. She'll be nude and masturbating slowly in the dappled sunlight. I can smell her arousal and hear the rhythm of her fingers slipping across wet flesh. As she approaches her climax, her back arches, thrusting her breasts upward. Her hand speeds about her ministrations, fingers now penetrating, now rubbing. Legs open. Lips swell. Fingers and sex glisten with her juices. Her breathing is now irregular, insistent, seeming always toward sharp inhalation and moaning or sibilant exhales. With a final deep breath, her legs shake and belly ripples with her release.

My fantasy is to watch and photograph.